


Students

by TheOnlyWife



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Danny has dyscalculia, Gen, Mr. Lancer is the best teacher, Tucker has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29835693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyWife/pseuds/TheOnlyWife
Summary: They were his students and he loved each and every one of them. They were charming, they were hopeful, they were smart, they were selfless, they were independent, and they were always going to be so.But, even with all that they were, they never had to ask to receive help.Or, Mr. Lancer is the best teacher ever and here's why.
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Mr. Lancer
Comments: 18
Kudos: 87





	Students

Danny Fenton was never the best student. He was always sleeping in class, hardly stayed for five minutes before running off for reasons he couldn’t explain to others, and never turned in his homework.

He never knew _how_ to do it. He didn’t stay long enough to pay attention. He had no time to study when, at any hour of day or night, he was fending off ghosts.

But it wasn’t just that. No, it was something far worse. He truly believed he was dumb. That he was never going to learn anything because his mind just wouldn’t accept the knowledge, no matter how hard he tried.

He could read page after page of literature and understand most of it. He could write an essay with only a little bit of help from his sister and get an A if he tried. He could do so much with English and all of its nuances, if he only had the time.

Math, on the other hand, was far from his best subject. As far as he was concerned, he was a lost cause. Numbers got foggy in his head, blurry and nonsensical when he tried to do anything.

Hell, he still had to use a calculator for the simplest of math problems. He could do two plus two, but eight plus seven and it’s like he was back in kindergarten all over again.

Jazz had tried to help him before, claiming that no one was ever ‘too stupid’ to learn. Danny never believed her. He still had to count on his fingers like a little kid when doing even the most basic of math problems, while she could do all kinds of complicated equations in split seconds.

He had believed he was hopeless: The high school kid destined to be a dropout.

Mr. Lancer was the only one to convince him otherwise. Stubborn in his kindly ways, his teacher offered to help. Forced, more accurately, because he was so persistent that it was somewhat annoying.

Normally the detention that Danny would be sitting in alone would be quiet. The other teachers saw it as a time for studying alone, thinking about what they did to end up there instead of at home on a Friday night.

Mr. Lancer, on the other hand, saw it as some great opportunity. A chance to help the failing kid, Danny supposed. He always thought it was about getting the class’s grades up. Some competition between teachers, he always assumed.

Or it was a competition to see who could get Danny Fenton, the worst student in Casper High, to finally pay attention.

But when Mr. Lancer came to his desk, pulled up a chair, and explained things in a softer voice than Danny’s ever heard, well, he didn’t know what to think.

He still had just as much trouble, but things made a bit more sense. When his detention lessons weren’t enough to keep up with the class, Danny thought that would be the end of it. A shrug and a ‘Well, we tried’ before walking away like nothing had happened.

Until Mr. Lancer knocked on his front door, books in hand and a hopeful smile on his face. Danny shot an accusatory glare at Jazz, but she just smiled and wished them good luck.

The extra lessons were something his parents were grateful for. His grades improved, if only by a little bit. Mr. Lancer seemed upset whenever the two of them were brought up, but Danny always assumed it was because his parents were supposed to be helping him at home, not him.

Though, Mr. Lancer never seemed upset with _him_ about that. 

Danny decided that Mr. Lancer was a weird guy. Always calm even when Danny got upset. Always patient when Danny didn’t understand something. And always helpful even when there was nothing in return.

A very weird teacher indeed.

* * *

To a Casper High freshman, health class was the most boring. All period long it was just Mr. Lancer going on and on about better eating habits.

Basically, he was mocking them for eating only junk food. At least, that’s what most of them thought. Some of them, though, listened to him. To them it wasn’t just ridicule, it was a call for assistance.

A silent way of saying that if they needed help, they could get it.

And Tucker Foley, who they all knew was the worst eater in Casper High, didn’t have a problem asking for it. He walked up to Mr. Lancer’s classroom door after school with no hesitation. 

He couldn't help spending some of their talk trying to make excuses as to why he eats the way he does. Mr. Lancer stopped him halfway through, telling him that it didn’t matter why his eating habits were so poor. 

It mattered that he was changing it now.

Mr. Lancer, the second Tucker asked for help, pulled out his phone and showed him cooking videos. Together, they watched a series of videos about eating healthy meals that were still delicious. Mr. Lancer had a focus on meaty meals, which Tucker was grateful for.

He had a severe lack of protein in his body, which made his nearly carnivorous diet somewhat necessary. That’s what he had thought. His mother had been ready to switch up the whole families’ diets to accommodate his.

Mr. Lancer showed him that that didn’t have to be the case. Over the course of just a few days the teacher brought him new recommendations. Books, videos, printed out food recipes, anything he thought Tucker could use.

Tucker took them home and eagerly showed his family. His mom encouraged him, taking the recipes and putting her own touch into them. His dad, who did the grocery shopping for them all, bought things he’d never bought before, just for him.

Things changed rapidly for the three of them. Eating better, feeling better, and, most importantly to a teenager, sleeping better.

And Mr. Lancer was the catalyst to it all.

* * *

Another night-long fight with her parents left Sam Manson exhausted and tired the whole school day. In her mind, they didn’t understand her and likely never would.

She just needed space. 

Space to breathe. To think her own thoughts. To be who she wanted to be.

She would never get it living in that house. Of course, she couldn’t very well live with a friend. Danny’s parents may be well-meaning, but they were crazy about ghosts, to the point of endangering everyone.

She couldn’t invade Tucker’s house, that was his safe place. She knew how much Tucker valued privacy and would never guilt him into sharing homes.

But she couldn’t think of any other friends.

So she suffered in silence, just like always. It was something she’d gotten used to, having experienced this torment over the course of years and years.

She had always thought that adult life would be her only saving grace. Only after she had graduated and finally moved out would be free. But, she also knew that she didn’t know _how_.

Years of being under her parents control also left her unknowing of how to live on her own. She was too embarrassed to go to them now, letting them know of her intent to live on her own before she was ready.

So, instead of risking everything, she sat in silence in class day after day, always tired from the night before.

Until one day something peculiar happened.

Mr. Lancer had walked up to her desk during study hall, a time when she could actually relax, and tapped her on the shoulder lightly, startling her out of her half-nap.

Without a single word he placed two books on her desk, small but still heavy. She read the covers. ‘Single-Living for Teenagers’ and ‘The Teenager’s Guide to Independence’.

He had walked away just as she looked up, mouth agape. 

That night she spent hours reading the guides with interest. They were full of genuinely helpful things that she never would have thought of on her own. But they were also full of sticky notes, tidbits of information neatly written by a clearly steady hand.

Mr. Lancer always liked going above and beyond for them.

Intrigued by a hope for the future, it spurred her into a late-night dive of research. It resulted in being just as tired the next day, but much more well-informed than the day before. 

Without a word, she set the books down on his desk and gave him a thankful nod. He smiled and took them, setting them in his desk drawer again.

She would have to remember this the day she finally got to use this knowledge.

* * *

Dash was the greatest man in the world. That’s what he whispered to himself every day in the locker room’s mirror when no one was around.

He’d been so great, in fact, that he was given everything he ever wanted by his father. As long as he did well and obeyed every word the man said. Dash was never close with him, for as long as he can remember.

Some bullshit about losing his mother to another man kept them from being close. Dash was given his first car in sophomore year, a bright red one he thought he could use to pick up girls with.

One ghost fight later and that was totaled. The second car his father provided was one that had a tight leash attached to it. ‘Not a scratch’ he was told. He didn’t want to know what would happen if the car was damaged.

But, more important to him than keeping this car unharmed, was keeping it in shape. He had no clue about car maintenance, tire management, fuel quality, or anything else his father never bothered to teach him, but scolded about anyway.

So, with a lot of sucked up pride, a lot more determination, and a broken down car in the Casper High parking lot, he went to the one person he always trusted.

That person just happened to be in the parking lot he was stranded at, just a few feet away.

“Mr. Lancer.” He said, running up. He couldn’t bring himself to shout, though that would have made more sense, considering it was clear the teacher was about to leave.

Immediately upon seeing Dash, though, he stepped back out of his car. “Mr. Baxter.” he greeted. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“My uhh...my ride broke down.” he gestured to his powered-off vehicle not too far away. “You know anything about cars?”

Mr. Lancer blinked a few times, then shut his car door behind him. “Let me see what I can do.”

Together, they took a look at the fuel gauge, the tires, anything that Mr. Lancer thought would be a problem area. The engine was what seemed to be the issue, according to the teacher who knew more than he let on, apparently.

“Your car did not break down.” he said, upon further investigation. “It just needs a jump-start and a decent car inspection after this.”

“Jump-start?” Dash tried looking at what Mr. Lancer saw, but only came across a mess of metal parts.

“Yes, luckily I have the cables you need for such a thing.” Mr. Lancer walked back over to his car and pulled out a long red wire, along with a black one, both with some kind of attachment on the ends of either side.

“You see those plus and minus signs?” Mr. Lancer asked, pointing to the two marked areas in the engine of his car.

Dash nodded, currently holding one wire, while his teacher held the other.

“The red wire is positive so you clamp it to the positive terminal on both cars.” Dash did so with only a bit of hesitation. 

Mr. Lancer smiled faintly at him. “Good. Now you take the black one, which is negative, and clamp it onto my car’s negative battery terminal. In this scenario, I am the boosting car.”

Dash did as he was instructed, with a bit more confidence this time. 

“Very good.” he smiled again. “Now, take the other end of the negative wire and attach it to a metal part a few inches away from the battery. That’s called the ‘ground’.”

After Dash did so, to which Mr. Lancer complimented him again, they were sitting in the teacher’s powered-on car, waiting for Dash’s battery to charge.

“The phrase I find most helpful is: Positive to positive, negative to ground.” Mr. Lancer said.

Dash had suddenly felt a bit embarrassed that he didn’t know any of this. He had apologized before he could even think. “Sorry for making you do this.”

“It’s no trouble for one of my students.” Mr. Lancer said, smiling.

“I should already know this stuff.” Dash sighed. “I’m supposed to be cool.”

Mr. Lancer paused. “You know, I was once a pretty ‘cool’ teenager.”

Dash outright laughed. Not in a cruel way like usual, but in a bubbly way that left him smiling. “No way!”

“I was.” Mr. Lancer laughed with him, though in a much more toned-down manner. “But even I had to learn from someone else. It’s not a burden to ask for help.”

Dash was always taught that asking for help was a sin. If he even tried to bother his father, he was met with ridicule and harsh words about how ‘real men don’t ask for help’.

But now he was sitting here with a man who was smarter than Dash could ever hope to be, kinder than anyone he’s ever met, and always has a smile to give and a helping hand to lend.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” he said, being truthful for once. “And...thanks for your help.”

Dash decided that Mr. Lancer wasn’t as bad as he thought.

* * *

Paulina was the most perfect girl in the world. That’s what her papi told her every day before she left for school. Everyone fawned over her so much that it must be true.

She never felt like a princess, even when she was told she looked like one.

Princesses were supposed to be beautiful, but they were also supposed to be smart. They were supposed to know how to act around authority, know how to rule a kingdom, and many other things that seemed to only weigh Paulina down. 

They were supposed to be gorgeous, but know how to keep their temper. They were supposed to be likable, but know when and when not to stand their ground. 

Paulina, who everyone accused of being a flawless princess, was none of those things.

She walked the halls feeling like a fake. She smiled at most, including her friends, but it was so forced that she had to practice in the mirror every day, just to make sure it looked believable.

She pretended like her lackluster grades didn’t affect her, but they did. More than her papi being unhappy with them, she was unhappy with herself.

She was supposed to be perfect.

But instead, she was sobbing in an empty classroom after school. She had told Star to go home without her, that she just needed to pack up a few things from her desk.

And she did need to do that; a beautiful fountain pen that her papi had given her was what she needed. But when she saw the failed tests crumpled up in her desk, along with the sheets and sheets of red-inked pages now spilled on the floor, everything fell apart.

All her style, all her grace, everything she did, useless. Her hands did nothing but wipe away the tears pouring from her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look down, lest she see the complete failure she was on the floor again. 

Some incoherent words made their way out of her, but what she tried to say will forever remain a mystery.

“Ms. Sanchez?”

She froze, completely still, save for the rest of the tears still falling that she wiped away again. She dared to look up at the voice.

“Are you quite alright?” Mr. Lancer, standing in the door asked, book in hand.

Unable to speak, she just shook her head. 

“I see.” the teacher set down his book nearby and waded through a few desks to get to hers. He then quietly took the seat next to her. “Would you like to talk about it?”

A few moments passed, mostly of her trying her damn best to stop crying (and _keep_ not crying long enough to talk) before she was able to speak again.

“I’m supposed to be beautiful.” she said quietly.

“You are.” Mr. Lancer said just as quietly.

“But I’m supposed to be perfect too. I’m supposed to be a perfect princess.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Now who told you that?”

“I-” She paused. “No one? I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he told her. “You don’t have to be the most beautiful person either.”

“But when I’m not I don’t feel- I just don’t feel...right.” She held back more tears before they could spill again.

“Then you have been misinformed.” He replied, taking a more stern tone, but not at her. “Whoever has been telling you that you need to be perfect is wrong.”

She glanced down at her failed tests and he followed her gaze.

Quickly he added. “And you don’t have to be the smartest either. Learning should be wonderful and enlightening. It should make you feel happy and make you want to share your knowledge with the world. It should _not_ make you cry.”

She felt how raw her cheeks were without having to touch them. She saw the tiny droplets of tears on the floor.

She had seen everything as a contest. She had to be the smartest, the most beautiful, the most popular. Because if she wasn’t...then she had lost.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.” He said, leaning down so he looked her directly in the eyes. “You already are loved. You are loved so much more than you know.”

“...Do you love me?” she stared at him, unblinking.

He smiled at her gently. “Of course I do. It doesn’t matter how dumb you think you are, how many detentions you get, or how often you skip class. You are my student and I love you.”

He sent her off with an even gentler smile, urging her to get home safe. She thanked him, though for what she wasn’t sure.

She walked home and repeated those words over and over, as if those were the most important words she’d ever heard.

Because for the first time, someone loved her. Someone loved _her_. Not her money, not her looks, but _her_.

That was more important than any compliment anyone had ever said to her.

* * *

Valerie was probably the stupidest person in the world. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself as she walked down the halls after school to knock on Mr. Lancer’s door. She told herself that everyone says ‘You can always talk to me’ or ‘If you ever need my help just ask’.

She’d heard it all before, but never had been so desperate for help to actually go to them. Or, they weren’t someone she trusted (and never would) in the first place.

The managers at work who touched her shoulders and told her such things, calling her ‘sweetie’ and ‘darling’ like they were her name came to mind.

Choking down the urge to run home and pretend this never happened, she opened the door slowly.

“Mr. Lancer?” she said, peering her head into the doorway.

The teacher was sitting, like always, at his desk, book in one hand and mug in another. 

“Yes, Ms. Gray?” He asked, setting down both things.

She stepped closer, shutting the door behind her, the faint smell of jasmine hanging gently in the air around him.

“I-” she said, gripping the straps on the backpack in her hands tighter. “I was hoping you could help me.”

He smiled gently right away, easing some of her fears. “Anything for one of my students.”

Valerie set her backpack down on the floor, pulling out the torn up orange skirt that used to be her favorite. The giant slit in the side was what she was here for because the rest of it wasn’t that bad, she thought. He nodded, standing up to take it from her outstretched hand.

He assessed the damage from all sides, including turning it inside out. Once he found the thing she was hoping he didn’t notice, the charred edges of the underside, he looked back to her.

“Fell down the stairs, I assume?” He asked, showing the burnt ends.

Her face flushed in an instant. “Something like that.”

He paused for a second to stare her down. “Well I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” 

She sighed softly. The last thing she had wanted to do was explain how and why an obvious ecto-ray gun blast hit her. She was having enough problems with her father asking the same questions.

“I have just the thing to help.” Mr. Lancer said, reaching into his desk. He pulled out a small sewing kit, obviously meant for small jobs and _not_ dealing with major damage.

Reaching once more into his desk, he pulled out a small spool of orange thread. With a small click of getting the case open, he set to work delicately sewing her skirt back up.

“I...I didn’t know you knew how to sew.” She said, while watching him.

He paused for a second, but resumed shortly after. “What were you hoping I would do, then?”

Valerie felt her blush come back again at full power. “I was going to borrow your stapler.”

He hummed in response, giving her a look she didn’t recognize, then looked back to his work. She ended up pulling a chair against his desk so she could sit down.

They made conversation about average things. How she was liking her new apartment, what book he was currently reading, just normal things.

Eventually their talking led to the question Valerie wanted to know.

“How did you learn to sew?” She asked, resting her head on her opened palm.

He did not stop working as he talked. “I taught myself when I was young,” he said. “My sister was a rowdy one, always running around and tearing clothes. My mother didn’t know how to, nor did my father.”

“You have a sister?” Valerie glanced over to the framed picture on his desk of what she always thought was just him in a dress.

He followed her gaze, then laughed gently. “No, that really is just me in a dress. I couldn’t convince her to wear one for the picture, so I had to make do. She never did like wearing anything femenine.”

“Oh.” Valerie said simply. “What’s she like?”

“Stubborn.” He said immediately. “Incredibly so. And she never liked putting up with anyone who ordered her around. She once kicked a boy down our school’s stairway for saying rude things about her.”

“My kind of girl.” Valerie grinned in approval.

With one final tie off of the thread, Mr. Lancer snipped the line with nearby scissors. He handed her skirt back, to which she accepted, feeling around the areas he stitched. It was very well done, if she’d ever seen a patch up job before. And she had, considering she’d seen her own work with, well, staplers.

She stood up from her seat, moved the chair back behind the desk she took it from, and, while shoving her clothes in her backpack, gave her teacher a smile.

He nodded, then moved to see her out. Just as she was about to close the door, he stopped her.

“Ms. Gray.” He said gently with a small smile. “Be more careful. Someone cares about you.”

She looked him in the eyes for a bit, unsure of what to say, then responded with a simple “I’ll do my best.”

And with that, the door closed behind her with a small click, leaving her feeling a lot better now that she had one more ally in her fight.

* * *

Edward Lancer was proud of his students. They were all so talented and special, especially because they meant so much to him. They worked hard, laughed happily at whatever small joy they could find, and maybe caused a bit of mischief here and there.

He knew more than they thought he did. He knew Daniel Fenton struggled with math classes. He knew Sam Manson had trouble seeking out assistance. He knew Tucker Foley had anxiety issues about his electronics. 

That’s why he made sure that Daniel knew he was not a lost cause. That’s why he asked his sister, Jasmine, for permission to give him the help he needed.

That’s why he made sure to notice whenever Sam needed help and give her the extra time and patience she needed. That’s why he made sure she never felt put down when she _did_ ask for help.

That’s why he placed Tucker’s desk in the back of the room, right next to the outlet. That’s why he kept spare chargers for the phones he didn’t have. 

But there were other things he did not just for one of them, but for all of them.

During said tests, he had a C.D player that had a single track of rain noises meant for those who couldn’t stand the silence of testing rooms. 

For those who struggle with auditory processing issues he made sure to have transcripts for the videos he played, even if he had to write them all out himself.

For those who couldn’t work without a calculator, he made sure to provide them with one.

For those who couldn’t ask for help, or maybe were just looking to be validated, he made sure they felt welcome. 

They were his students and he loved each and every one of them. They were charming, they were hopeful, they were smart, they were selfless, they were independent, and they were always going to be so.

But, even with all that they were, they never had to ask to receive help.

He had been walking down the halls during the student’s lunch break when he heard it. The ghost fights had been getting out of control as of late.

And, for reasons no one except him could pin down, most of them happened at Casper High. So it wasn’t a surprise to see the aftermath of a fight scorched on the lockers and floors.

What he hadn’t been expecting was to see a thin figure glowing white leaning against one of the lockers, cradling his arm.

“Phantom?” he called out. He didn’t want to startle the ghost away, but he also knew he needed to help.

“Ah!” Phantom jumped into the air, hanging there for a bit, before seemingly becoming out of breath and landing back down. “I didn’t see you there, Mr. Lancer.”

Lancer decided not to comment on why a ghost would call him that.

“You seem to be hurt.” He pointed at the gash covering his right arm, dripping blood and ectoplasm as they spoke. 

“Oh, no, I’m ok, just fine.” Phantom stuttered, covering the wound from view without actually touching it. “Just a scratch.”

“Nonsense.” Lancer stepped closer. “That needs to be tended to.”

Phantom shook his head violently, backing off. “No, really, I’m ok. No need to-” 

It was too late. Lancer had already grabbed him by his good arm and was pulling him to the staff bathroom, all the while the ghost kept repeating that he was ‘ok’.

He knew to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom’s small cabinet, just as well as he knew to lock the door behind him. It would keep any other teacher’s out, and it might just convince the ghost to stay.

“It’s not even that bad.” Phantom whined while Lancer wetted a few paper towels to wipe the blood and ectoplasm off. 

Gently, he did so, trying his best to ignore the winces of pain coming from Phantom. He tossed them to the side, making a mental note to pick those up later, when everything was said and done.

“I disagree.” Quickly, he washed the needle with the hottest water he could get from a bathroom sink. It wasn’t true sterilization, but it would have to do.

“I didn’t know you knew how to sew.” Phantom commented, glaring at the needle that was about to be embedded in his skin.

“I wouldn’t imagine so, considering we don’t know each other, Phantom.” Lancer couldn’t help but tease. 

“Oh, yeah...right. We don’t know each other at all. I’ve never met you before.” Phantom mumbled, seemingly embarrassed.

He then refused to look him in the eyes for the entire time Lancer spent stitching his arm back together. Impressively, he hardly cried or said much of anything but ‘ow’. For getting stitches, he was being surprisingly brave. 

Or, maybe he’d had this done too many times.

That thought hurt to think about so Lancer tried to focus on something else.

“Who did this to you?” He asked, shifting his legs so they wouldn’t fall asleep.

“What?” Phantom jerked his head up, then sighed in relief. “Oh, you mean who did this?”

“Yes, I do.” Lancer concentrated on his hands more than what he was saying. “What is that robot’s name? Skulker?”

“It was...it was no one.” 

Phantom’s hands were shaking, Lancer noticed.

“It was the Fenton’s, wasn’t it?” 

Phantom froze. If he hadn’t already not been, he would have stopped breathing. Lancer tied off the thread and snipped the end with the small bandage scissors that came with the first aid kit.

“I think you should tell them.”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Phantom laughed shakily, bringing his legs in closer. “T- tell them what?”

“Tell them that you mean no harm, of course.” Lancer replied. “They might attack you less if you tell them that you don’t intend to hurt anyone.”

“I doubt that. All they wanna to do is...hurt me.” Phantom muttered darkly, studying the handiwork stitched on his arm. He quickly shoved the torn remains of his jumpsuit over it. “I don’t think me flying up and talking to them is gonna help.”

“I think you’d be surprised what a little conversation can do.” Lancer stood up, brushing off a little blood splatter on his pants.

Phantom copied him, though he ended up floating instead of standing. Seemingly, he was feeling a bit better physically than when he struggled to float before.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but I gotta go before someone sees us together.” Phantom looked around the room warily. “Now which way is…?”

Lancer studied the ghost’s confused face for a moment, then decided to say something.

“The Fenton’s house is that way.” He pointed to the left corner of the room. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find wherever you’re looking for from there.”

“Right, yeah.” Phantom blinked at him a couple times. “Thanks.” 

“Safe travels.” Mr. Lancer nodded in response. 

Without another word, Phantom blinked out of visibility. A moment later, the chill Lancer hadn’t noticed left as well.

He sighed and bent down to pick up the bloody paper towels, ectoplasm faded into a mud green now. It was a gruesome sight to see, one of his students in pain, but he was glad he got through it in one piece. He chucked the aftermath in the trash. 

“He can tell me when he’s ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> A while back someone was talking about all the little things Mr. Lancer would do for his students. They mentioned a lot of the things I wrote about. I can't find the post since it was so long ago, but in tribute to them, here you go!


End file.
